


what a wicked way to treat the girl that loves you

by junsnow



Series: A Feast of Kinks [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Adultery, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Cheating, Cunnilingus, Extramarital Affairs, F/M, Jon and Sansa Are Not Related, Jon is married to Dany, Jonsa Kink Week, Little bit of fluff at the end, Modern AU, Office Sex, Secret Affair, Smut, because they’re not total assholes as much as it seems, jonsakinkweek, she’s not actively in it though, yes this is me being a mean bitch to Dany again lol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-02
Updated: 2018-02-02
Packaged: 2019-03-12 13:46:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13548576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/junsnow/pseuds/junsnow
Summary: She’s parading around the office today in the shortest pencil skirt he’s seen to date, the black satin hugging her hips just right and showing off her ridiculously long legs, and Jon is trying—trying being the key word here—not to stare. To make matters worse, she is wearing those killer heels he loves, and a gray blouse that, looking from a carefully precise angle, shows a hint of black lace underneath. It’s barely work-appropriate, but somehow she pulls it off. She always does. That was the unofficial Sansa Stark trademark.-Day 2: Adultery





	what a wicked way to treat the girl that loves you

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Beyoncé’s “Hold Up” from the Lemonade album. Seemed fitting within the context lol. Thanks Lizzie for helping with the title!

It hurts; how much he wants her.

 

He only just had her last night, but _still_.

 

She’s parading around the office today in the shortest pencil skirt he’s seen to date, the black satin hugging her hips just right and showing off her ridiculously long legs, and Jon is trying—trying being the key word here—not to stare. To make matters worse, she is wearing those killer heels he loves, and a gray blouse that, looking from a carefully precise angle, shows a hint of black lace underneath. It’s barely work-appropriate, but somehow she pulls it off. She always does. That was the unofficial Sansa Stark trademark.

 

It must be the way she carries herself, so elegantly, even at 22; as if she couldn’t care less to all the turning heads wherever she goes. Jon knows for a fact she does; she loves it, and knowing every miserable soul in this building wants to fuck her thrills her as much as it makes him roar inside his chest, because _he_ is the one who gets to do it every single day. _What a lucky bastard I am_ , he thinks to himself.

 

Their affair had started a few months ago, one late night they were both stuck in the copy machine room— _God_ , he gets hard just thinking about it, the way Sansa’s cunt felt wrapped around him that first time. They made a habit of staying late, then, to have the office for themselves, though sometimes he likes to take her somewhere different; a nice hotel with a king-sized bed, for instance. By now, his wife knows not to wait up for him each night. That’s just how busy he’s been lately, he would tell her.

 

He feels guilty, of course, cheating on Dany—even entertained the notion of breaking things off with Sansa at first—but then she would look at him across the room, with those hungry blue eyes; or their fingers would touch when she handed him his morning coffee, and he would feel that electricity coursing through him again. _That_ feeling was enough to make him forget he was married. Hell, it was enough to make him forget that any other woman even _existed_ in the first place. Only Sansa.

 

Sansa made it all worth it somehow, made him not care about how wrong it all was—fucking his secretary, a woman nine years younger than him, when he’s a married man—she makes it all feel _right_. Jon was addicted to her now, to her scent, her touch, her cunt—he couldn’t live without her. Just imagining such a life filled him with dread. He couldn’t go back to what it was before her. That was the truth.

 

She walks to his desk, nonchalantly dropping some reports on his desk before leaving his office without a word, and Jon suddenly knows he’s fucked up somehow. He didn’t know yet what he had done to make her mad, but he knew there was _something_ —Sansa was never like this. She would always take every little chance she had to be near him, to touch him in whatever way she could during the day, to tease him before he could do anything about it. He realized then she hadn’t sent him a single sneaky smile his way today, and that only aggravated him further.

 

_What the fuck did I do?_

***

 

He tries to get her alone all day, tries to get her attention, to fucking _talk_ like adults, but she seems determined to ignore him. Even worse; she tortures him, by bending unnecessarily low to pick up a pen she dropped and giving him—and every other male in a thirty feet radius, he fumes—a choice view of her ass in that skirt, or chatting with some douche from accounting by the coffee machine.

 

Jon is about to explode when he finally gets her alone. He waits behind his door until she walks by, then drags her inside his office and locks the door. Sansa looks none too pleased.

 

“What do you want?” She asks, impatiently, hands on either side of her waist.

 

“Well, good day to you too, Sansa. I’m well, thanks for asking.”

 

She doesn’t indulge him. “Fuck off, Jon.”

 

It really shouldn’t get him aroused, but it does. “That’s not an appropriate way to address your boss.”

 

“Oh, I’m _sorry_ ,” she snaps, “what would be more appropriate? Me sucking your dick under the table, as usual?”

 

He’s speechless for a moment, but recovers quickly. “Sansa, what did I do? Why are you so mad at me?”

 

“You don’t know?” She seethes. “Well, let me explain it to you, _boss_. Your wife passed by the office this morning. She informed me, very politely, that you will be taking a month’s vacation and going on a romantic cruise together. As your secretary, she asked me to arrange everything for this second honeymoon of yours, so I’ll be taking care of purchasing the tickets for your lovely vacation and redirecting your calls while you’re gone.”

 

“What?” Jon feels a headache forming. “I don’t know what she’s talking about, Sansa! She didn’t mention any of this to me!”

 

“How convenient,” she deadpans.

 

“Sansa, I swear to you, if Dany is doing this, it’s without my knowledge or consent.”

 

She examines him, suspicion clear on her face. Then she looks down and—

 

“I _cannot_ _believe_ you’re hard right now.”

 

Jon looks down, surprised, and sure enough, there he is, tenting his expensive trousers. He tries to use it in his favor. “Baby, please, I’ve been hard all day. You know what you do to me.”

 

“Don’t _baby_ me.”

 

Sansa is leaning against his desk casually, and when Jon tries to come nearer, she brings one leg up to hold him back. It only makes him more desperate, the way her long, smooth leg looks propped up and bent at the knee, the high heel of her shoe digging into his stomach.

 

“Sansa,” he groans, cock twitching with want inside his pants. “I need you.”

 

“You won’t be _needing_ _me_ in your little honeymoon cruise with your wife,” she says, still ruthless.

 

“I won’t be going on any cruises, unless it’s with you.” He grabs her ankle gently with one hand, spreads his other over her calf. “I haven’t fucked Dany in months. She must think this is going to fix our marriage, but it won’t. I only want you.” He starts laying kisses on her leg.

 

She looks reluctant to believe him, but the lust in her eyes doesn’t escape him. At last, she gives him something.

 

“Prove it.”

 

He drops down to his knees in an instant, spreading her legs and settling between them. Jon has her sitting on the desk, underwear off, skirt bunched up and his mouth on her in record time. The first moan to drop out of Sansa’s mouth fills his ears with a thrill.

 

He revels in the taste of her, moaning against her cunt as he brings her knees over his shoulders, settling her more fully against him. She grabs his hair, as she always does, manicured nails digging into his scalp, but he loves it, loves that little bite of pain as she shows her appreciation, and he laps at her harder.

 

She’s trying to keep quiet, he knows. It’s not as late as when they’re used to having theirs trysts; people are still around. Yet the thought of their coworkers listening to her moan while he eats her out makes him so incensed he wants to make it harder for her; wants to hear her louder, so he brings two fingers up to her entrance and slips inside easily. Sansa lets out the most delicious sound at that, and Jon sets out to hear it again. He could never have enough of her.

 

“Jon,” she warns, looking down at him.

 

He looks up darkly, flicking his tongue over her clit while he curls his fingers against her upper walls just how she likes it.

 

“Jon! _Ahn!_ Jon, I’m gonna— _ungh_ , I’m gonna cum!”

 

He sucks on her clit, harshly, and slips a third finger inside—she falls apart then, so beautifully, so thoroughly, and _just for him_.

 

Jon rises, enjoying the view of her flushed cheeks and heaving chest as he licks his fingers clean. He is so painfully hard now; all he wants is Sansa naked and writhing against him. She must want the same thing, for she starts undressing him immediately.

 

They undress each other with urgency, both scandalously naked in his office not a minute later, lips joining as their bodies do the same. He groans when he’s finally buried inside her, feeling that tight, wet grip he’s been craving all day. Her legs wrap around his hips, pulling him ever closer to her.

 

“Harder, Jon,” she begs, “ _yes!_ Like that!”

 

He obliges, fucking her harder like they both want. The force of his thrusts is making the desk quake, but her moans of approval are so satisfying he keeps at it.

 

“You feel so fucking good, Sansa,” he rasps, burying one of his hands in her gorgeous auburn hair to bring her mouth to his again. They moan in unison when their tongues graze each other.

 

She starts clenching around him, deliberately massaging his cock, and Jon has to break their kiss to praise her.

 

“ _Fuck_ , _yes_ , Sansa, squeeze that tight pussy around my cock,” he growls.

 

Her moans reach a higher pitch, repeating his name over and over. He’s hypnotized, fully focused on _her_ , on the snapping of their hips and the fluttering of her cunt. She’s close; he can tell, can feel her becoming tighter against him with each passing moment.

 

Jon grabs her hips tighter, in a way that is sure to leave fingerprints later, and drinks in the sight of her as she comes for the second time. It’s breathtaking—the way her breath hitches, her eyes shut, her back arches and her head drops back, mouth falling open in a perfect “O”. He feels her too, more pleasurably than he could ever describe, clutching him tightly inside her and trying to milk his release from his cock.

 

He tries to hold back, tries to prolong their pleasure, but she coaxes it out of him easily, bringing those delicate hands to the back of his neck and breathing out his name so prettily his heart swells with the sound. Jon holds her tight, close against his chest as he inhales her scent and leaves wet kisses down her neck—he knows the spot she likes, just under her ear.

 

“You’re so beautiful,” he says reverently.

 

She says nothing for a while, then speaks in a vulnerable tone he never heard from her before, “your wife is very beautiful.”

 

He stops kissing her, steps back just enough to look at her, and— _how can she look so insecure after what we just did?_

“She’s got nothing on you, Sansa. I promise.”

 

She looks up at him, still insecure, and it tears at his chest. “You’re not just saying that because you like fucking me?”

 

“I do like fucking you,” he admits, but before she can push him away, he continues, “but it’s more than that. I...I love you, Sansa.” He confesses, and suddenly it’s like a ton is lifted off his shoulders. She looks up at him, blue eyes filled with affection and surprise in equal measure. Everything is crystal clear in that moment. “I’m getting a divorce,” he says surely. “And I don’t have a ring with me now, but I’m going to get one, with a big, fat diamond on it—bigger than Dany’s, I might add, and—”

 

She rolls her eyes. “I don’t care about the diamond, you idiot, I just want _you_.”

 

He smiles, bursting with happiness, and claims her lips again.

 


End file.
